


Such a Heart

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Nothing in the World [2]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Fluff, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Protectiveness, Secret Crush, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6372319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Orihara Izaya is a brat. Shizuo has known this for years." Being best friends with Orihara Izaya is a pain, but Shizuo has trouble imagining anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such a Heart

Orihara Izaya is a brat.

Shizuo has known this for years. It was clear within the first moments of conversation with the other boy, a basic fact of existence that has only been made more obvious with each day he spends in Izaya’s company. Izaya is made of rough edges, with broken glass in his smile and bloodstains in his eyes and the sharp lines of bone so close under his skin that they shadow his wrists and collarbones into the suggestion of bruises even when none exist; his laugh is a taunt, his grin a dare, until Shizuo is half-surprised he doesn’t get himself punched on a daily basis. Shizuo’s not sure he’s ever caught Izaya being sincere, and certainly never on purpose; what understanding Shizuo has gained has come from accidental insight, in leaps of intuition formed from the weight of an uncaught frown or fingertips trembling with adrenaline that never touches the smooth lilt of Izaya’s voice. Shizuo wonders, sometimes, what it would be like to only see that brittle facade, to have all attempts at comprehension slide off and away as water from slick glass; it would be infuriating, he thinks, maddening to face down an enigma wearing the smile that whispers knowledge of secrets not known even to their subject. Shizuo can imagine the frustration of it, can picture the constant stress of trying to see past the warped lines of a mirror that only distorts the viewer; he thinks he would go mad with it, if that were all he had to go on, thinks he might rather lash out against the irritation just for the sake of having something to fight back against other than his own twisted reflection.

But that’s not all he has.

“You’re late,” Izaya calls as Shizuo comes down the path from his front door. Izaya doesn’t turn to see Shizuo approaching; he just speaks as the other draws up to the front gate, pitching the words loud enough to be heard without looking up from whatever he’s doing on his phone. “Are you that entrenched in your delinquent lifestyle, Shizu-chan?” He sounds amused, his tone twisting the words into an insult; but his shoulders are stiff, his head dipped down, and whatever smile is on his voice doesn’t touch the flatline stress against his mouth.

“Don’t call me that,” Shizuo says automatically, and then, before Izaya can look up at him: “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be. Kasuka borrowed my English textbook last night and didn’t put it back in my bag this morning.”

“You’re such a good brother,” Izaya says, and he flicks his phone shut to fit it back in his pocket as he turns his head up to smile at Shizuo. It ought to be a smirk -- Shizuo is fairly sure it would look like one to someone else -- but the curve of Izaya’s mouth settles soft at the corners of his eyes, undoes the strain of waiting across his shoulders, and by the time Shizuo has stepped through the front gate Izaya’s slouch against the wall is truly relaxed and not just mimicking the appearance of it. “What would Kasuka-kun do without you?”

“Shut up,” Shizuo tells him, and reaches out to shove his hand through Izaya’s hair with the appearance if not the reality of true irritation. Izaya dissolves into a giggle as Shizuo’s fingers drag across his scalp, his whole body tipping sideways under the force, and Shizuo can’t help but grin too, not when the sound of Izaya’s laugh always runs through him like carbonation fizzing into soda. “You’re such a terrible kouhai.”

“Maybe you’re just a bad senpai,” Izaya suggests, ducking sideways and away from the weight of Shizuo’s hand in his hair. Shizuo lets the gate swing shut behind him, lets Izaya take the lead down the sidewalk, and by the time he’s stepping forward to follow the other Izaya’s looking back over his shoulder, dipping the soft dark of his lashes over the edge of his gaze as he smiles at the other boy. The top button of his shirt is undone, the pale lines of the fabric left open across the angle of his collarbones; Shizuo’s gaze slides down to the shadows there, catches for a moment before coming back up to the give of Izaya’s mouth and the sharp edge of white flashing behind his lips. “It’s only because you’re such a bad influence on me that I turned out this way.”

“Shut up,” Shizuo repeats, and Izaya grins wider, turning on his heel to face Shizuo as he walks backwards with no apparent concern for the lack of visibility this leaves him with. Shizuo frowns, his attention dropping to Izaya’s feet as they continue down the street. “You wouldn’t be going to school at all if I didn’t make you.”

“True,” Izaya allows. He angles his arms behind himself to clasp his hands together; the movement tips his weight back, turns the pace of his steps into more of a controlled stumble than a walk. “I could be doing so much more with my time if I didn’t have to keep you under control.”

“You don’t have to,” Shizuo says. He’s still looking at Izaya’s feet, frowning at the too-fast pace of the other’s movement instead of meeting the focused attention behind Izaya’s eyes. He’s going too fast, Shizuo can see, either from carelessness or deliberate acceleration, his footfalls coming quicker against each other as Shizuo lengthens his stride to catch up. “Stop that, you’re going to fall.”

“God only knows what you’d get up to without me,” Izaya says, his voice catching on the leading edge of amusement, but he’s not slowing down even as Shizuo draws closer. “Hurry up, Shizuo, we’re going to be late for class.”

“Turn around,” Shizuo says, and then Izaya takes a step and his heel hits the toe of his other shoe and Shizuo lunges forward, reaching out to grab at Izaya’s elbow as the other’s balance starts to go. For a minute his hold is too tight, his fingers pressing hard with the weight of adrenaline before he can think to ease into a gentler grip; Izaya grabs at the front of Shizuo’s coat, catches his weight back over his feet, and Shizuo hesitates for a moment, his fingers still carefully braced around Izaya’s arm.

“I told you,” he tells Izaya. “You’ll fall if you don’t watch where you’re going.”

“Good thing I have you here to catch me,” Izaya says, and Shizuo doesn’t have to look to know Izaya’s smiling up at him with shadows behind his eyes and danger behind his smile but he does anyway, just to see the curve of Izaya’s lips on whatever it is he’s not saying, on the taunting mockery and sincerity behind the words in such equal measure Shizuo has yet to parse which one is intended.

“Good thing,” Shizuo deadpans, flat and unamused, and Izaya breaks into a laugh and turns away, drawing his arm free of Shizuo’s hold like it’s not even there. Shizuo watches him move, watches the easy angle of Izaya’s arm as he shifts; there’s no hint of hesitation, no suggestion of pain anywhere in the set of Izaya’s mouth or printed into a crease at his forehead. “Are you okay?”

Izaya looks back over his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says, and then, with his eyelashes fluttering into flirtation again, “Thanks to you, senpai.”

“Shut up,” Shizuo says, and Izaya laughs and turns away to leave Shizuo to jog a few strides to catch him up. Shizuo takes a rushed pair of steps to fall into sync with Izaya’s footfalls, reaches out to let his arm fall around the other’s shoulders with careful weight to avoid so much as an accidental bruise against that too-fragile frame. Izaya tenses like he always does upon physical contact, his whole body hunching as if for protection, but Shizuo doesn’t pull away, and after a moment the strain along Izaya’s spine eases into calm, his body tipping in against the support of Shizuo’s like he’s aligning himself to the other.

In another world, Shizuo might hate Izaya for the cut of his laugh, for the unreadable shadows that linger perpetually behind the heavy weight of his lashes. But here, now, the strain of Izaya’s amusement sounds like the anxious uncertainty it is, and his penchant for risktaking looks like desperate need for reassurance, a constant question to see if Shizuo will still be there or if this will be the time the other loses patience with him and finally leaves.

Here, Shizuo doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if he ever hurt the person next to him.


End file.
